


More Than a Game

by 221B_Ladybug



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - High School, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Basketball AU, Basketball!lock, Blow Jobs, Dirty Talk, Dirty Thoughts, First Kiss, First Time, Insecure Sherlock, John Loves Sherlock, John is 34, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Masturbation, Mentions of past drug use, Nipple Play, Older John, Oral Sex, Romance, Sherlck is 17, Sherlock Loves John, Sherlock-centric, Teacher-Student Relationship, Teen Sherlock, Unsafe Sex, Virgin Sherlock, lots of nipple play, student/coach relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-28
Updated: 2015-05-28
Packaged: 2018-04-01 15:34:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4025302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/221B_Ladybug/pseuds/221B_Ladybug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock has been playing basketball for his high school team in order to receive a college scholarship. All he wants is to get into a decent University. When the team receives a new coach, Sherlock's life is turned upside down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	More Than a Game

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, everyone! This is my first fanfiction ever. And it's my first time writing smut =^_^= I love the BBC Serlock series and I love Johnlock stories. I've noticed that there isn't many Sports Au's for Johnlock so, I've decided to write a basketball AU. If there is something I missed about the sport, please feel free to let me know (nicely). I'm no expert in basketball, but I did do some research. The Sherlock television series doesn't belong to me, this is just a fanfic. Comments and Kudos make my day! They are the peanut butter to my jelly! :D :)  
> A special thanks goes out to Morwen_Maranwe for encouraging me to finish this fic and post it and to CarrieHall for Beta-ing and Bripicking this for me!  
> Disclaimer

It was the middle of Basketball season for the school when and while Sherlock wasn't the star of the team, he was really good at the sport. He needed the full scholarship that he was promised in order to be able to afford University. Although, as of the moment, Sherlock wasn't entirely sure whether he wanted to be a detective of some sort or have a career in forensics. What he was sure of was that he was extremely smart, excelled in everything he did, played the violin exquisitely, obtained outstanding yet uncanny (to many) deduction skills and that almost everyone else was an idiot. 

There was no way he was going to be like his older brother, Mycroft, and have a lucrative and secretive career traveling across the world with agent-like employees at his fingertips, blackmailing individuals for information or material, turning people in to the police, hunting down undesirables to personally torture them, and doing God only knows what else. Basically, Mycroft was the British government, and no, Sherlock would not be like his brother at all, though he loved him dearly.

Sherlock wasn't posh, he lived with his single mother in a tiny flat nearby his school. He wasn't as much of a socialite as Mycroft was. He couldn't afford fancy clothes, vacations, cars, agents, big estates, or anything lavish. Sherlock preferred playing violin and basketball over making friends. He was just your average basketball player in sixth former college trying to make it through his last school year who, with the help of his extraordinary intelligence and a basketball scholarship, get into one of the top universities in London where he'd receive the courses necessary to him: chemistry, forensic pathology, and biology.

Despite Sherlock’s intelligence, amazing basketball skills, and breathtaking violin playing, he had his insecurities (which were plentiful). When he was 12, his and Mycroft's father walked out on their mother to be with a younger woman who, Sherlock deduced, was only 22 at the time and using him for the money he made working as a general surgeon. Mycroft had always been his favorite, and he didn't mind showing it. He always said Mycroft would be the successful one out of the two brothers and even had a college fund set up for him.

Mycroft sent money to Sherlock over the years, and even offered to pay for his baby brother's college tuition, but Sherlock declined. He wanted to get into college and be able to pay on his own, even if that meant he had to get scholarships in order to do so. It just meant that he’d have to work harder in school, and he had no qualms with that. He made good grades every semester and received a scholarship offer for that along with the sports one.

The money Mycroft sent went to groceries from Tesco, basketball uniforms, clothes, and his mother when she needed help, which wasn't often even though she worked as a waitress at a local diner and didn't make that much. He and Mycroft would butt heads often, but at the end of the day, they loved each other and they knew it. When push came to shove, Mycroft always had Sherlock's back.

At school, Sherlock was widely known as 'Freak' and he started to believe the term was true. He was pale, with a head of wild, unruly chocolate curls, a neck that was too long, a baritone voice, and full Cupid’s bow lips. On top of that, he was tall (6'0 at only age 17), had sharp, pronounced cheekbones, and was a rude, nerdy, thin, virgin, who kept mainly to himself. Not to mention, he was gay. He'd known this about himself since the age of fifteen, when he became attracted to his neighbor’s teenage son and  
figured out that girls weren't his area. He'd never let the neighbor know his feelings and it was too late when they moved. From then on, he was fine with being alone. Unless, the perfect guy for him came along.

There was a point in time where he turned to drugs and that only lasted for two months. They helped him escape his problems temporarily and feel good for a moment. Once Mycroft found out, he put an end to that with the help of a rehab counselor, and encouraged him to help out at crime scenes at New Scotland Yard, which gave him an all new high along with the basketball. He was now an adrenaline junkie, and basketball and crime solving helped him out immensely in that department.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

Today, the team was receiving a new coach, because the original coach quit in order to spend more time with his wife and their newborn son. Victor, a popular blonde and Anderson, an annoying brunette , were sitting two rows behind Sherlock, mocking him and throwing their sweaty towels at him. Sherlock turned his body around and fixed the two teens with a look of displeasure. "Come on you guys, stop it! Anderson, your cheerleader girlfriend, Sally, isn’t faithful to you, as all well know. She's been shagging three of the blokes on the football team. And you, Victor, should I let everyone know you're a homosexual? Hmm? You and Sebastian have been snogging each other senseless in the locker room every chance you get," Sherlock hissed, perturbed by the trouble makers.

"Why, you little frea-"

"Victor Trevor, be quiet!" Coach Collins spat as the new coach standing beside him glared at the two nuisances. "This is John Watson. To you all, he will be known as, Coach Watson. He doesn't take any nonsense, so treat him with the utmost respect and you'll get along just fine. Do you all understand?"

The silent room erupted in murmurs of, "Yes, Coach Collins."

"Okay, I'm leaving now. Watson, they're all yours."

"Thank you, Coach. Congratulations on the new baby."

"Yeah, a new baby will change a man. Good luck with the team," the previous coach stated as he left the gymnasium.

"All right, everyone. I'm Coach Watson. I've been playing basketball since secondary school, like most of you all. Then I joined the army because I decided to get into the medical field to become a doctor rather than sports. My hours at the clinic have been arranged to accommodate coaching this talented basketball team. I love basketball, always have. Even though my shoulder was injured on the battlefield, I still have a passion for it. So, here I am."

Coach Watson was short, about 5'7, with sandy blonde hair with hints of gray styled in a military cut, a slightly tanned complexion, captivating navy blue eyes, an athletic build due to his days in the army, and obtained near perfect posture.

‘He's about 36 years of age, divorced from a pathological liar, has a gunshot wound to the right shoulder from a battle, psychosomatic limp, an older brother with a drinking problem seeing a therapist, and is currently single and an adrenaline junkie,’ Sherlock deduced, mentally.

As Sherlock's glasz eyes met Coach Watson's cerulean ones, his heart skipped a beat. He felt his cheeks get hot and was sure that they were turning red.

"All right boys, let's see what you can do," Coach Watson announced after learning all ten of the team members’ names and committing them to memory.

The teen boys hopped off of the bleachers and divided into two teams of five as Mr. Watson took a seat in the burgundy plastic chair facing the court, giving him a good view of the game and making it easier to keep count of the scores.

There was a short pause while the teams huddled in their zones and reviewed their strategies before the coach blew into his silver whistle. "Okay guys, let's go," he ordered.

Anderson took his place as center while Victor stood point guard. On the opposing team, Sherlock was standing guard while Jack stood point guard. Jack threw the basketball to Sherlock who made the shot into the other team’s hoop. Victor glared at Sherlock through chocolate colored eyes, jealousy evident, and went back to his position. As the game went on for another five minutes, the scores for Jack's team went up while it took a few tries for Victor's team to even earn two points. With the game at 10-4, Victor was furious and seething with rage. He was so envious of Sherlock, even the smallest victories of his set him off. Just as Sherlock was about to make the last shot of the game, Victor shoved him to the floor with great force, making Sherlock to hit the laminate wood flooring hard, before tossing the ball on his face as the coach gave a long blow to his whistle, causing everyone to freeze where they were. Snickering could be heard from Anderson and Victor as they gave one another a high-five. Coach Watson hopped out of his seat and rushed over to Sherlock who was struggling to sit up straight. "Mate, are you all right?" Jack asked. His only response was a grunt from Sherlock as he winced from the pain. "Sherlock, are you okay?" Coach Watson asked, noting the blood forming at his lush lower lip and his right arm, which he had fallen on, turning bright red. "Yes, sir. I'm okay, Coach."

"Victor Trevor! What were you thinking? Oh, that's right, you weren't thinking. You're benched for tomorrow night’s game, and that is final!" Coach Watson yelled.

"But Coach, it was only a -"

"I don't want to hear it, Trevor. Everyone to the locker room. NOW!"

With that, the yellow jersey and short clad teens dispersed and made their way to the locker room.

"Blimey, mate! That git hit you pretty hard. Your skills are outstanding! I can see why he's jealous," Mr. Watson stated, running the pad of his thumb along Sherlock's sinful, plush bottom lip, wiping off a tiny trail of blood that had accumulated.

Sherlock moaned lightly at the almost innocent contact and looked the handsome coach in the eyes. "S-s-sir, thank you."

 

"Call me John... When it's just us. Otherwise, call me Coach or Coach Watson, Sherlock Holmes." His other small hand traveled over Sherlock's right leg, checking for any swelling or bruises before stopping at his inner thigh.

 

Sherlock was beginning to show signs of arousal. He felt his nipples harden slightly, his skin flush, his breath came out faster and he was sure that his pupils were dilated after seeing that John's were. He willed himself not to get an erection and it worked for the most part. He'd not felt anything like this since he was fourteen. Even then he'd only touched himself to get rid of an erection that resulted in a night time emission. He'd rubbed and pinched his pert nipples, stroked his cock languidly, rubbed his abdomen and inner thighs, pulled his hair and wet his fingers with saliva to make his cock more lubricated along with his steady flow of ejaculate. He had to bite his lip hard in order to prevent his mother from hearing what he was doing in his room that morning. He didn't think of anything specific as he touched himself, he had just wanted it to be over and done with.

 

Sherlock shuddered as John's hand slowly and teasingly slip upward and over his groin to his hipbone. "I don't like what he did to you. If he does anything else, let me know. Please, just let me know and I'll take care of it. I promise."

 

"Yes Coa- I mean John," Sherlock replied, giving him a warm smile.

 

Just as John took his hand away from Sherlock he was stopped by the slim teen’s plea.

 

"Wait! John, my arm hurts."

 

"Would you like me to take you to the doctors?" John offered.

 

"No, thank you. You're a doctor. You were in the army where you obtained your shoulder injury. Afghanistan or Iraq?"

 

"Afghanistan. Sorry, how did you-"

 

"I know you're an army doctor and you've been invalided home from Afghanistan. I know you've got a brother who's worried about you, but you won't go to him for help because you don't approve of him—possibly because he's an alcoholic, more likely because he recently walked out on his wife. And I know that your therapist thinks your limp's psychosomatic, quite correctly I'm afraid. That's enough to be going on with, don't you think?" Sherlock answered, interrupting John.

 

"That was amazing!"

 

"You think so?" Sherlock asked, taken aback by the compliment.

 

"Of course it was. Extraordinary. It was quite extraordinary."

 

"That's not what people normally say."

 

"What do people usually say?"

 

"Piss off."

 

The two shared a short laugh, before their eyes met again, navy blue to gray.

 

"Did I get anything wrong?" Sherlock inquired.

 

"Harry and I don't get on. Never have. Clara and Harry split up three months ago, and they're getting a divorce. And Harry is a drinker."

 

Sherlock grins, quite pleased with himself.

 

"Spot on then. I didn't expect to be right about everything."

 

"Harry is short for Harriet," John corrects.

 

"Damn! There's always something.”

 

"No, that was excellent! You're wonderful. How is your arm feeling?" John commented, brushing a curl away from Sherlock's face.

 

"It's better now. Thank you," he said standing up, rubbing his right arm.

 

"No problem, mate. I'll see you next practice."

 

"See you, John."

 

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

 

When Sherlock got home that evening, he saw that his mother wasn't home- no surprise there. She had to work extra hours in order to make enough money to keep a roof over their heads. His mother needed a break and soon. Sherlock read the note attached to the refrigerator

 

'I'm working until 11 at the diner tonight, love. I made lasagna and the leftovers are in the fridge. -Love, Mum.'

 

Sighing, he went to his room, where he stripped off his uniform and kicked off his black trainers. Upon entering his bathroom he turned on the knobs in the bathtub to create the perfect temperature before stepping in, allowing the soothing spray of warm water to run down his body. He leaned his head back, wetting his hair thoroughly, and retrieved his shampoo, pouring some into his hand and massaging it through his scalp, reveling in the soothing sensation. Next, he lathered his gray terrycloth with coconut smelling bath wash and cleaned his sweaty body off.

 

Once he stepped out of the shower and toweled himself off, he slipped on a gray t-shirt, black pants and blue pajama bottoms with his dark blue silk dressing gown that Mycroft had brought him for a birthday gift.

 

After Sherlock completed his homework and experimented with his chemistry set, he heated himself up a hearty slice of lasagna and ate it alone at the kitchen table. Nightfall began to announce its presence over the sleepy London neighborhood after Sherlock had washed his basketball uniform and cleaned up the house so that his mother didn't have to worry about it when she got home. All she'd have to do was shower, relax, and go to bed.

He sent his mum a text while he got into his bed, leaving the lamp on.

'Dinner was delicious, mum. I love you. -SH'

Within two minutes, he received a response.

'Thanks, Sherl. I love you. Good night.'

After placing his phone on his nightstand, images of Coach Watson appeared in his head, not allowing him to sleep just yet. John’s hand on his thigh. His thumb on his lip. His navy eyes like thin bands around his blown pupils. His compliments. His steady hand trailing dangerously close to his cock as it slid over his groin. Oh, it was all too much for Sherlock. He lifted his hips and slid his pajama bottoms off and shimmying his dressing gown off of his shoulders and placing it at the foot of his bed before gathering a small bottle of unscented Vaseline from the top dresser of the bedside table.

Sherlock began to rub himself gently through the cotton of his boxers. "John," he moaned loudly as he threw his head back against the pillows and screwed his eyes shut, relieved that his mother wasn't home yet. "John..... Please." His full, pale, pink lips fell open as he whimpered. "Oh, John." His hips canted upwards as he applied more pressure to his growing erection. He imagined John's small, steady, precise surgeon hands stroking his cock, his thin lips wrapped around him and swallowing his come, his mouth and fingers on his nipples. He imagined John's cock inside of his tight entrance, fucking him senseless into his mattress.

Sherlock could feel a patch of wet pre-come forming against the front of his boxers as his erection tented them. He was so wet for John already. "Uhhhhhh!" His left hand rubbed at his inner right thigh where John had touched him earlier. There was no way he could forget it. He could still feel the man’s hand on him. 

After massaging his groin for a few moments, he sucked on his forefinger an middle finger and circled them teasingly around his left areola before moving on to the right. He could feel John's mouth sucking and licking his dark nipples.

Sherlock decided that he needed direct contact with his cock and hastily rid himself of his boxers as his prick bobbed upward and fell heavily onto his stomach with a slap. The clear beads of pre-ejaculate forming at the tip dropped onto his stomach, creating a tiny, warm puddle on it. He was now completely nude, every inch of his beautiful, delectable body on display. 

His torso was nearly hairless. His milky, white flat stomach gave way to prominent hipbones. There was a trail of chestnut hair under his belly button, leading down to a patch of similarly colored pubic hair. His legs were slim, yet toned like his body and his large, long fingered hands made touching himself a more pleasurable experience.

Sherlock poured some Vaseline onto his long, slender, flushed cock and hissed at the contact. He ran his fingers down the shaft, shivering at the sensation. His foreskin was pulled back, revealing a pink, flared head from where pre-come was leaking copiously. He stroked his cock lazily, lips parted, panting heavily, and swiped his thumb over the tip every time he stroked upward. The slick, wet sound of Sherlock stroking himself obscenely filled the room, turning him on even more.

Pleasure spiked through him as he began pumping himself in earnest, imagining John watching him with hungry, lustful eyes. His cock twitched in his hand as he smeared pre-come over the tip and mixed it with the lotion. "Fuck!" Sherlock hissed.

He turned over on his right side, grabbed his body pillow, and placed it between his legs as he began frotting and rutting relentlessly against it. He held the pillow in place with one hand and the other went back to pinching his nipples, which were now pert nubs. The material shifted on his prick as his legs squeezed tighter around the pillow.

His sweat soaked curls were now sticking to his forehead, and he was now circling his hips to gain more friction against his sensitive erection.

"Oh, God. John, yes. John. John. John. Ohhhh," he moaned, John's name spilling out of his mouth as if it was a benediction.

Heat began to coil in his stomach and he felt his bollocks tighten up. He was close and he knew it. He removed the come- stained pillow from between his legs and began pulling at his cock feverishly. His free hand grabbed at the blue sheets for purchase as his hips stuttered and his release came upon him. "John!" Ribbons of hot, pearly white come spattered onto his stomach.

It took a few minutes for his body to stop quivering and finally still as the last few spurts of come spilled over his hand.

Sherlock’s languid pulls on his prick came to a halt before it became oversensitive and he allowed his breathing to calm as a huge, tooth-filled grin appeared across his face.

He tossed the soiled pillow case into the hamper, cleaned himself off and went to sleep in only his boxers and t-shirt, since it was a warm, spring night in May. For the first time in a while, Sherlock fell asleep with a smile of his face.

John. This newcomer was going to turn Sherlock's life upside down and he didn't mind it at all.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

The next evening after school, Sherlock came home to his mum setting up the dinner table. She wasn’t wearing her baby blue uniform dress from when she went to work at the diner. She was wearing a loose wintergreen peasant top and black dress pants with a pair of black patent leather flats. Her shoulder length, curly, brunette hair was styled in a loose bun. She wore no makeup, revealing her naturally peachy skin tone and bringing out her pale grey eyes. She was beautiful and looked peaceful.

"Hello, Sherl. How was school and basketball practice?" she asked cheerfully, pausing to look at her son.

"It was okay. Thanks for asking."

"That's good. Your new coach called today. He said you were injured by one of your teammates yesterday. He wanted to check on you. What happened?"

 

Sherlock's heart fluttered at the fact that Coach Watson cared enough to call his home and check on him. He felt a blush creep across his face as he gave a slight smile.

 

"Victor was just upset that our team beat his, so he shoved me. That's all."

 

"Oh, love. Why didn't you tell me? He's always had it out for you, yeah? It's all because you're a good basketball player. Let me know if he does anything else."

 

She walked over to her son, held his face in her hands and looked him over.

 

"I'm okay. I just hurt my arm. But trust me, I'm fine. Coach Watson dealt with the situation," Sherlock replied with an assuring grin.

 

"That's good, love. I just worry about you sometimes," his mother said, giving him a sad smile and kissing his forehead.

 

"Mmm. That smells good! What's for dinner?" Sherlock asked, switching the subject at hand even though he'd already deduced that his mother had cooked him his favorite meal.

 

"Your favorite, fish and chips. I've already fried the fish. The chips are in the oven."

 

"Thanks mum. I'm going to shower and change. I'll be down in a tick. Ta."

 

"All right, love."

 

 

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

 

 

Weeks went by, and John began to let his interest in Sherlock be known little by little. His compliments grew bolder; he touched Sherlock more often, invaded his personal space more times than was appropriate, and even suggested that he see Sherlock outside of the school's basketball practice and games (an offer that Sherlock had shyly agreed to) when they weren't under the scrutiny of prying eyes. To an outsider, this would seem totally inappropriate. But, to Sherlock it was all acceptable.

 

John admired Sherlock's round arse in his basketball shorts as he dribbled, threw the ball, and took a shot. It was beautiful as he jumped, those yellow, jersey shorts rucking up, sometimes exposing his pale thighs and edges of his pants underneath. He loved watching Sherlock's curls stick to his forehead and when he shook his head, they bounced perfectly. He loved watching Sherlock's chest rise and fall as his breaths came out in pants, wrapping his pouty lips around a water bottle as he drank after practice, his body glistening with sweat after each game and practice session. John wanted to see other parts of Sherlock glisten. John wanted to kiss and suck on Sherlock's cock. John wanted to suck on and tease his beautifully dusky nipples and rake his fingers through those luscious brunette curls. John wanted Sherlock naked, sweaty, and plaint under his ministrations. He really wanted to shove his thick cock up Sherlock's pretty arse.

 

It had been a little over a month when John made his intentions known to Sherlock. They'd won their last game of the season thanks to Jack's short jump shot, and Sherlock congratulated his teammate. He was invited to have celebratory hamburgers with the team, but declined because with Victor and Anderson around, he knew he wouldn't be able to enjoy himself. Once everyone else had left the locker room, he sat on the bench and took out his clothes and backpack from his locker, sitting them down.

 

He decided to shower, basking in the silence and peacefulness of the empty room for about five minutes. The water soon cooled, forcing him to come out of his soothed state and step out of the stall. Turning the handles to stop the spray of water, he tied a short towel around his narrow hips after drying his body and hair off and went back over to the bench that held his belongings. He smelled like peaches now. Wonderful.

 

Just as he was about to untie his towel, footsteps were heard entering the locker room. He turned around, waiting for the unknown man to show himself.

 

"It's just me. You didn't want to go out with your mates?" Coach Watson asked, stepping closer to Sherlock. He almost fainted at the wonderful sight of a beautiful, damp Sherlock in nothing but a short towel, which hung a little below his prominent hipbones, leaving little to the imagination.

 

At first, Sherlock was a little self-conscious about John seeing him in only a towel, but his insecurity quickly vanished when he saw John lick his lips slowly and sensually, as well as the lustful gaze he threw Sherlock's way and the way his pupils dilated.

 

He gave a nervous smile and shook his head causing droplets of water to drip from his curls to his face and chest. "I don't have many friends. Only Jack, Molly, and Zachary are my friends."

 

"Hmm. That's too bad.... for them. But, it's good for me,” Coach Watson said, pressing himself up against the teen.

 

Sherlock felt John's impressive erection press up against his thigh as he languorously rubbed it on him, running his palms over his bare chest, massaging his nipples with his fingertips in the process.

 

"Oh, John." His wildest fantasies were now coming true.

 

"I like seeing you in your uniform. You're so beautiful. But seeing you in nothing but a towel tonight, makes me feel like I have some sort of victory. What a treat. You're so sexy, Sherlock," John purred into Sherlock's ear.

 

"Johnnnn. I-I... I want you."

 

"I can tell. I want you too."

 

"Ohhhh."

 

"Do you taste as good as you smell?" John inquired, inhaling the teens peachy scent and quirking an eyebrow.

"That's something you'll have to see for yourself, John," Sherlock breathed out between moans.

"Mmmmm. Sexy and feisty. Perfect."

Sherlock gyrated his hips forward to meet John's as an erection of his own began forming under his towel. John backed Sherlock into a locker so that they could frot more steadily and gain more friction. Wonderful, delicious friction.

"Sherlock Holmes, I'm going to fuck you so hard, you won't be able to think straight. I'm going to suck your cock, let you fuck my mouth. I bet your cock is perfect. Come to my flat tonight, Sherlock. I’ll make you feel so good."

He pressed a chaste kiss to Sherlock's soft, pink, moist, open lips.

"God, those lips. Those beautiful, fucking lips of yours. I could kiss you all day."

Sherlock looked John into his eyes and fixed him with what he thought was a seductive expression, trying to hide the blush that made its way across his cheeks.

"Yes, John. I'll come over tonight. I-I've never done anything like this before... with anyone," Sherlock admitted as John stilled his hips.

"Good, you're a virgin. I'll be your first. We'll go slow, I promise." John pressed his lips to Sherlock's more roughly this time.

"Yes, please."

"Your voice sends shivers down my spine. I can't wait to hear the noises you make, I want you to scream my name, baby. Mmm. Get dressed. I'll be waiting for you in the gym. Don't forget to let your mother know you won't be home tonight. She seems like a wonderful woman and I wouldn't want her worrying about you.”

"Okay, John."

John trailed his fingertips along the top of Sherlock's towel, momentarily brushing against his lower abdomen before kissing his neck softly and walking out of the locker room.

His erection began to flag once John stopped touching him and he had to think about Anderson and Sally kissing in front of the team to make it go away completely.

Sherlock took out his iPhone from his messenger bag and sent his mum a text.

'Our team won the game tonight! I'm going out with the team to celebrate and I'll be spending the night at Jack's. Love you, mum. -SH'

He sat his phone on the bench and yanked his towel off so he could dry himself more thoroughly prior to putting deodorant on, as well as his pants and clothes. The tight, aubergine, long-sleeved, button up shirt went perfectly with his equally tight black trousers. The soft shirt was so tight, that every time Sherlock moved, it strained around his slim torso and the small white buttons threatened to pop off at any moment. He spritzed some of his favorite cologne, tousling his curls and parting them so that they fell over the right side his head.

His phone pinged just as he put his basketball uniform into his bag and slung it over his shoulder. It was a message from his mother.

'Congratulations on the win, love! Be safe while you're out with your friends. Don't stay out too late. I'll see you tomorrow morning. Love you.'

He smiled to himself, placing his phone into the side pocket of his bag and made his way back to the gym where John was leaning casually against the brick wall.

"Look at you. I like that aubergine color on you."

"Thanks, John. I'd usually wear a suit jacket with my dress shirt outfits, but not today," Sherlock replied with a shy smile.

"Regardless, you look great. Have you eaten yet?"

"No. I'm okay though."

"I can't just invite you to my place and not have something for you to eat. Especially knowing that you haven't had dinner yet. I've placed an order for Chinese food. I hope that you like vegetable Lo Mein and Kung Pao chicken," John said.

"I love it! Thank you very much."

"Follow me."

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

The ride to John's flat was filled with nervous glances and awkward silence as they anticipated what the night had in store for them. When they entered John's flat, John took Sherlock's messenger bag and placed it onto his white sectional couch.

The flat was small (one bedroom, one bathroom) but it seemed perfect for the ex-army doctor. The flat was kept neat, which appealed to Sherlock. There was a wall-mounted flat screen television facing the couch and a small table with two matching chairs in the corner of the room.

The Chinese food was delivered two minutes following their arrival to John's abode, and they ate at the square table. He served the food on white glass plates and made sure that they each had a pair of chopsticks. John had a glass of wine and he gave Sherlock a glass of ice water. He didn't want his love to think he was trying to get him drunk, and he also had to consider that Sherlock wasn’t yet old enough to drink without parental consent. Everything would play itself out one thing at a time.

Sherlock opened up to John and he felt so comfortable around him. He told him about Mycroft, his father and mother and how he had a chemistry set of his own in his bedroom that his mother gave him as a Christmas gift. In turn, John opened up to him. He told Sherlock about his days in the army, his drunk lesbian sister, his ex-wife, Mary, and how her lies concerning the paternity of her child broke them up, and how he was also close to his mother growing up and still was. His mother and father divorced when he was a toddler, so John didn’t remember much about his father. They laughed and discussed Sherlock's deductions of his teammates, Anderson and Victor.

 

"You truly are amazing, Sherlock. I knew there was something special the moment I first laid eyes on you," John said, rinsing off the plates and smiling over at Sherlock.

 

"Thank you, John. I'm really not that special."

 

"Oh, baby. You're so special to me," John said, sitting next to Sherlock on the soft twill sectional, placed his hands on either side of the teens face and leaned his head down towards his. He pressed his thin red lips to Sherlock's plump ones. John keeps his tongue within his mouth, only for the moment, since Sherlock was inexperienced. He slowly backed away to look at Sherlock for a moment and cupped his right cheek with his hand, running his thumb soothingly over his cheekbone. Sherlock leaned back in, claiming John's soft lips. John takes this as initiative and opens his lips. The kiss is awkward at first, because Sherlock is stiff and unsure of what he's doing. But when he began to mimic John's movements and get the hang of it, John became bold and licked the seam of the teen's lips, asking for entry. Sherlock does not award it yet, but instead moves his hand to John's cropped silvery blonde hair. Then, he opens his mouth and allows John to suck his pouty bottom lip into his mouth, dragging it against his teeth for a few seconds. Sherlock released a low whimper and places his hands on John's ribs. John repeats the movement and lets his other hand slide down Sherlock's back until it reaches one of Sherlock's round arse cheeks and squeezes.

 

It's then that Sherlock allows John's tongue to enter his mouth and dance around with his own. It was evident that he was unsure of what he's doing, but he was trying so hard, and it was turning John on. The kiss was open mouthed and sloppy, yet sensual. Their teeth hit against one another's, and their tongues battled for dominance as they tilt their heads in synch. The sounds of Sherlock's little whimpers fill the living room along with John's groans. 

Their bodies are pressed tightly together and the smell of Sherlock's peach shower gel and his fruity cologne combined with the scent of John's woodsy cologne are the only thing they can smell. It's wonderful and alluring. 

When they part, Sherlock pants heavily and his lips are wet, red and kiss-swollen. John slowly runs his thumb over his bottom lip, like he did the first time they met and leans in for yet another kiss.

 

This time, they kiss until Sherlock is pliant in his hands, and is kissing back with a little confidence, even though his technique is still not perfect and still a bit clumsy. He's found out that he really does like kissing Sherlock, and that he could kiss him all day.

 

"Let's take this to the bedroom," John suggests, voice tinted with arousal.

 

"Yes, Captain," Sherlock answers with a sly smile. 

 

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

 

John took Sherlock's hand and led him into his bedroom, closing the door behind them and flicking on the bedside lamp. John took hold of the hem of his white t-shirt and stripped it off, muscles flexing in the process. Sherlock's pale grey eyes widened in amazement as he watched John. Next, John unbuttoned and unzipped his khaki slacks, shoved them down to his ankles, revealing red briefs which outlined a thick bulge.

 

Sherlock's began to salivate at the sight of John's muscular thighs in the delectable red pants. His small, pink nipples, toned arms and stomach added to his sexiness. John's stomach was a bit soft, but still obtained its shape. How could his slim, pale body compare to John's tan, fit one?

 

He noticed the scar on John's left shoulder left from the gunshot wound. The pink and brown starburst patch of skin caught Sherlock's eyes. He knew it was rude to stare, but the scar fascinated him.

 

"You finally get to see it," John commented, taking notice of Sherlock's staring.

 

"It's beautiful," Sherlock said, honestly, stepping closer to him and ran his forefinger and middle finger across the bumpy flesh.

 

"I hate it."

 

"It just shows how much you've been though and what you've overcome, how strong you are."

 

"Thanks, Sherlock. You know how to make a man feel good."

 

"I mean it."

 

"I know you do," John said, leaning up to kiss Sherlock's forehead.

 

He took off his socks and shoes, enabling him to kick his off khakis from around his ankles and sat on the edge of his bed in favor of watching Sherlock undress.

 

Sherlock toed off his shoes and bent over to take off his socks before untucking his shirttails from his trousers. He made a show of slowly unbuttoning his shirt, deft fingers plucking each small white button from their holes on the placket side. Once his pale torso was revealed, John stood up and unbuckled Sherlock's belt, sliding it from the loops and allowing it to hit the plush tan carpet with a click.

 

Biting his lip in anticipation, he plucked the button to Sherlock's trousers open with ease and unzipped them before sliding them to his ankles.

 

Once Sherlock stepped out of his trousers, revealing his gray boxer briefs, John laid on the bed vertically next to Sherlock so that their faces were aligned with one another. They began to kiss lazily as their hands roamed over each other's bodies and their cocks pressed together, causing them to erupt in sighs and moans. John's right hand was engaged in Sherlock's lush curls. It was like threading his fingers through pure silk.

 

John began rubbing at Sherlock's hardening cock through his boxers. Sherlock leaned his head back, revealing his long, pale, freckled neck which John couldn't resist kissing and sucking on as he rubbed Sherlock with earnest.

 

"Oh, John. Oh, God," Sherlock moaned.

 

John sucked at the juncture between his neck and shoulder. He tried to not to leave marks for the wondering eyes of the public to see, but was taken over by pure lust. He then licked over Sherlock's neck where he'd sucked, which caused the teen to moan a bit louder and tilt his head back even more, inviting more of John's hungry kisses and sucks. 

 

John slid down Sherlock's body, stopping at his torso and began tonguing at Sherlock's hardened dusky nipples. The perfect little nubs tasted delicious to John. He sucked the right nipple into his mouth and took it between his teeth.

 

Sherlock's back arched as he pressed John's head closer to his chest.

 

"Oh yes, John! Yes!"

 

John pinched the other small nipple between his thumb and forefinger, rolling and tugging it gently, which elicited the most beautiful noises from Sherlock's lips.

 

"Your nipples are so sensitive. I can only imagine how sensitive your cock is. You like when I suck your nipples, don't you?"

 

"Yes, John," Sherlock answered, his voice coming out in a whisper.

 

"I can't wait to bugger you senseless, Sherlock. You won't be able to walk straight for days," John promised, and Sherlock knew that John was a man of his word.

 

Sherlock's hips rolled from those words alone. He could feel the head of his cock pressing up against a large, wet patch of stickiness in his briefs. He was so horny, and it was all thanks to John.

 

John pinched Sherlock's right nipple and attacked the left with his mouth. He circled his tongue around the areola first like he did with the right, before sucking the pert nub into his mouth and tugging gently with his teeth. Sherlock liked this. His nipples were extremely sensitive and he loved to tease them when he masturbated. When touched, he felt wonderful sensations that went straight to his cock.

 

"John," he breathed as the older man lowered himself down Sherlock's body, trailing feather light kisses on his glistening nipples, flat stomach, and thighs as he went.

 

John smirked when he observed the patch of precome on the front of Sherlock's gray briefs.

 

"You're so wet for me, baby. I'm the only one who gets to see you like this. So beautiful."

 

"Yes, John."

 

John mouthed at Sherlock's cock through his boxers experimentally. When giving a blowjob, he always liked to get straight to the point, but with Sherlock he'd take his time and tease a little.

 

"John!" Sherlock moaned, twisting his hips.

 

He pressed his tongue over the clothed erection, licking his way up the covered shaft.

 

"Oh! Oh! Uhhh!"

 

John tugged at Sherlock's briefs, deciding it was time to feel the beautiful boy’s naked cock in his mouth. Sherlock lifted his lips to accommodate John as he carefully slid the boy’s grey pants down, careful not to touch his glossy cock. His foreskin was retracted, revealing the flared, red head.

 

"Perfect," John whispered, upon seeing Sherlock's naked body on his bed. His flat stomach, obtrusive hipbones, small and sensitive dusky nipples, and nearly hairless torso were almost too much for John. What really got him was Sherlock's beautiful, fairly long and slender, uncut flushed cock that sat in a nest of dark brown pubic hair.

 

"Tell me, Sherlock," he said, as he circled the mushroom head with his fingertips.

 

"Mm! Yes, John. Like that. I like to do it like that."

 

"I see. Have you touched yourself recently?"

 

"Yes, John. I thought about you when you first came to coach our team," Sherlock admitted, his deep voice ragged and breathy.

 

"Really? What did you think about me doing?"

 

"I- I thought about......uh...wh- when you touched my thigh, I-I could still feel it that night. I thought about you watching me, sucking my nipples and fucking me."

 

"I'd love to watch you touch yourself, Sherlock. I bet you looked so hot."

 

"Uhnnn!"

 

John darted out his tongue and pressed into Sherlock's weeping slit, undulating his tongue in shallow movements, tasting the bitter, salty precome. He placed his hands on Sherlock's hips and wrapped his mouth around the crown, lowering his head down the shaft until he was at the base of Sherlock's velvety cock and his nose was nestled in the teen’s pubic hair. Once John’s thin lips were wrapped around the boy’s cock, Sherlock tossed his head from side to side, biting his lip and pushing his hand over his mouth to muffle his moans. The new sensation of a wet, warm mouth around his prick had Sherlock nearly coming apart just as the feeling of another persons hand on him did.

 

John released his prick with an obscene pop and looked up at him.

 

"Don't cover your mouth. I want to hear you. I want you to look at me. I want you to fuck my mouth," John commanded.

 

"Yes. Okay, John. Okay."

 

John tongued at the frenulum for a bit before stretching his thin lips around Sherlock's shaft and swallowing him down to the base.

 

The teen’s hands gripped John's short hair and bucked his hips up causing John to gag around his cock.

 

"Sorry, John. I'm so sorry."

 

John hummed a sound of assent around his cock and pushed the teen’s hands onto the back of his head.

 

"Ah. Oh, God."

 

Just as he thought, Sherlock's cock was sensitive like his nipples.

 

The wanton, guttural sounds Sherlock was making enticed John to bob his head up and down faster, pressing his tongue to the head, licking his shaft and sucking, hollowing his cheeks as he sucked him. Sherlock bucked his hips up and pushed John's head down on his cock simultaneously with John's bobbing of his head.

 

"Yes, John! Yes! Oh! Oh, John, please! Don't stop!"

 

John lowered a hand to fondle Sherlock's testicles. He gave a few experimental licks to them. They were heavy and drawn up tight as he squeezed and kneaded them.

 

Sherlock was close and he knew it. He was new to this and wouldn't be able to last long, at all. His free hand gripped at the sheets as he willed himself not to come too soon from the amazing sensation.

 

"John. John, I'm gonna...... Bloody fuck. I'm gonna-"

 

John slid his mouth off of Sherlock's glistening cock and kissed the head, giving him a predatory grin. His lips were wet with saliva and Sherlock's precome, and the sight alone nearly made Sherlock come. He crawled back up Sherlock's body and kissed him deeply, allowing him to taste himself.

 

"You do taste as good as you smell. You're delicious," he said, sitting up on his knees and removing his red briefs to reveal his hard, thick, pink, circumcised prick jutting out from a thick patch of straight, sandy blonde pubic hair. It was just begging to be touched by the curly haired teen. 

 

Sherlock sat up straight and reached out to touch it until John's hand held his.

 

John noticed the look of confusion on Sherlock's face and smiled.

 

"I like to use lube. It's in the top drawer of my nightstand. Do you use lube?"

 

Sherlock shook his head as he leaned over to retrieve a small, brand new bottle of lubricant from the dresser and closed it. Sherlock opened the bottle and poured a dollop of the cool, viscous substance in his hand before recapping it and laying it beside John.

 

He rubbed it between his fingers to warm it up a bit, and began to stroke John's gorgeous cock, occasionally running his thumb over the flared tip.

 

"Mm. That's it Sherlock. Grip it a little tight- ah, there you go. Faster, baby. Faster."

 

Sherlock picked up the pace with his strokes and reveled in the wanton noises he was uprooting from John. A string of drool dripped from his open lips to the tip of John's cock and damn, was it libidinous. That did it for John.

 

"Oh Sherlock, let me fuck you now. Please, let me fuck you," John begged, slowing the movements of his hips.

 

"Okay." Sherlock let go of John's cock with reluctance and lay back on the pillow, his curls fanning out behind his head as a result.

 

"I don't have any condoms. I haven't been laid in a while. I can go out and buy some. But I’m clean," John said, looking Sherlock in the eyes.

 

"It's fine. I trust you. With everything."

 

God. Sherlock trusted him. He was being honest. The last time he'd had sex was with Mary before he'd divorced her and that was over a year ago. He always got tested every six months and he always turned up clean even with his varied sexual past. Thankfully, he had practiced safe sex when he wasn't with Mary. He was definitely going to be gentle with his sweet virgin and try to make his first sexual experience as pleasant as possible.

 

"I'm glad, love. Put this under your hips. It'll make things a little easier."

 

He handed Sherlock a pillow that had made its way to the bottom of the bed. Sherlock lifted his hips and rested on top of the pillow after he situated it underneath him.

 

"I'm going to prepare you. It won't be painless, but I will try to make it as enjoyable as I possibly can because I love you. I love you so much, and I want you to feel good." The words spilled out of John's mouth like a waterfall, before he could stop himself from speaking.

 

"I love you too, John. I really do," Sherlock answered truthfully as he held John's gaze.

 

John retrieved the bottle of lube and situated Sherlock so that he was on all fours with his perfect, plump arse in the air.

 

"Mmm, look at you. How could anyone keep their hands off of you? I sure can't."

 

"I don't mind. I like it," Sherlock said.

 

John massaged the perfect round globes, loving how each cheek felt in his hands.

 

"God, your arse. Sherlock." He leaned in and bit down on each cheek causing an unsuspecting Sherlock to yelp.

 

"Didn't mean to surprise you, baby. You're just my perfect boy. Every part of you is perfect to me. Your lips, your cock, your arse, your hair, your nipples, your face, your stomach, your legs and neck."

 

"Don't lie to me, John. I'm a freak. My cheekbones are too pronounced, I'm lanky, my lips are awkward, and I look like an alien. I don't know what you see in me."

 

John slapped both of Sherlock's arse cheeks and uncapped the lubricant before pouring a copious amount into his hand, coating his fingers thoroughly.

 

"I am being honest Sherlock. Don't you dare talk down about yourself like that. You're gorgeous. I love your lips; they're the perfect Cupid's bow shape. You're cheek bones are stunning, subtly masculine. Your body has muscle definition underneath. Only I get to see it though, because I'm the only one who gets to see you naked and debauched like this. You look like one of those Greek statues, absolutely stunning. You don't look like an alien. You're no freak, Sherlock. You're my beautiful, sweet, sexy boy. I should be asking you what you see in me," John replied as he warmed the gel with his fingers.

 

"Everything, John. I see everything in you. You're patient, protective, and trustworthy, and I'm not one to just easily trust someone. You're special. You're a hero, you’re strong, and you make me feel good."

 

John smiled at that as he circled his lubed index finger around Sherlock's tight, pink pucker, spreading the gel around his entrance, before gently easing it inside of the thick ring of muscle that was securely wrapped around his digit. Sherlock hissed at the intrusion, which concerned John.

 

"I love you, Sherlock. I hope we can be together freely soon," John said, attempting to engage Sherlock in conversation in order to distract him from the pain and discomfort.

 

"Uh-I will be going to Uni next fall. It's only five minutes away from the school I attend now. We can rent a flat together. I know a lady, Mrs. Hudson, who owes me a favor. The flat has two bedrooms, though we’d only need one. The other can be my chemistry lab, if that's okay. 221B Baker Street is the address. We can take a look at it together sometime," Sherlock offered, trying to ignore the weird feeling of the finger in his entrance.

 

"I'd love to. Just you and I together with no one to bother us."

 

"Ah. Yes, John. It'd be a wonderful life."

 

"Of course. Have you ever touched yourself here? Does it hurt?" John asked deliberately pumping his finger in and out, letting Sherlock become accustomed to the feeling as he was getting ready to add a second.

 

Sherlock let out staggered breaths, making it evident that he was forcing himself to except the intrusion.

 

"No. I've never-uh- no. It just feels like- I have to use the bathroom right now."

 

"Good, baby. Good job."

 

A few minutes later, he added his middle finger, which proved to be a bit difficult. But once he deemed Sherlock ready, he began to scissor his digits, stretching Sherlock thoroughly. He curved them, seeking the bundle of nerves that would be Sherlock's prostate.

 

"Oh! John, yes! Please!"

 

Jackpot! He'd found it. He kept it up for five minutes, occasionally adding more lube to ease Sherlock's experience, all while whispering words of encouragement and sweet nothings to his.....boyfriend? He'd have to ask later.

 

Two fingers became three when John added his ring finger, which took some extra time. Sherlock was a writhing, whimpering mess. Every time he hit the young teen’s prostate, he would yell out in pleasure, arms shaking, barely able to keep himself up.

 

"Oh, please, John! Yes! Fuck me, John. Please, fuck me."

 

The obscene quality of Sherlock's words sent waves of desire through John's body and to his cock, which twitched with Sherlock’s in anticipation.

 

Once Sherlock was fucking himself on John's fingers, which took about twenty minutes, John pulled them out after scissoring a few more times. He felt bad when he heard Sherlock whine at the loss of his fingers, but knew he had something better in store for him.

 

Sherlock lay on his back and situated the pillow under his hips, looking up at John with wide eyes. His pupils were blown so wide that his irises were just thin, gray bands. He watched as John stroked himself with a hefty amount of lube.

 

He wrapped Sherlock's long, pale legs around his waist and lined himself up at Sherlock's entrance.

 

He was thoroughly stretched. A thin layer of sweat covered his forehead, his chest was heaving, and his lips were open as he looked up at John.

 

"Please, kiss me," Sherlock requested.

 

"Anything for you, baby."

 

John leaned down and captured Sherlock's kiss-swollen lips with his own as he slowly and carefully pushed the head of his thick cock inside of him.

 

Sherlock whimpered, feeling as if he were being split open. The pain was to be expected, and John had taken his time preparing him, but Sherlock wasn't sure how much more he could take. He began to sob and tears started to roll down his cheeks as his lover pushed more into him slowly, trying to get past the first ring of muscle and being met with a little resistance. God, Sherlock was so tight. John took notice of Sherlock's discomfort and slid out immediately.

 

"I'm so sorry, baby. Oh, Sherlock."

 

Regret tugged at John's heart as he wiped the tears away and kissed Sherlock's face.

 

"We can stop."

 

"No, John. Please. I know it's supposed to hurt. It'll get better, I'm sure. Let's try again," Sherlock urged. He'd expected it to hurt a little more after seeing the thickness of his lovers cock, but this didn't detour him from wanting John to make love to him.

 

"Okay, baby."

 

John pressed the tip against Sherlock's puckered entrance again and pushed in. Sherlock winced and groaned as John's sizable prick got past his sphincter.

 

"Sherlock?"

 

"It's all right. Continue, John," Sherlock insisted.

 

John pushed in agonizingly slow, getting past each ring of muscle bit by bit. The lube did little to ease the pain, but it did make it easier for him to accept John's cock.

 

Sherlock bit his bottom lip, willing himself to deal with the discomfort until it eased away. John stopped halfway and moved his hips back, not sliding completely out, before he gently pushed his cock halfway back inside Sherlock. Sherlock's extremely tight entrance felt so good around his thick, throbbing, slick cock. It took everything in him not to just slam himself in and out, fucking Sherlock into oblivion.

 

He eased his way into Sherlock until he was fully seated inside of him.

 

Sherlock was breathing heavily, a few tears still falling down his face. John braced himself on one hand which was laying flat by Sherlock's head and with the other, grabbed him by his curls and began kissing him lovingly.

 

"Oh, John."

 

John reached between their stomachs and began stroking Sherlock's cock at a slow pace as he began to leisurely slide in and out of Sherlock. The sight of his thick cock disappearing into his tight, virginal heat repeatedly was almost enough to make John come right there on the spot.

 

The two erupted in sighs and moans as John took his time fucking Sherlock while he kissed him and stroked his prick. The pain began to mix with pleasure after minutes of slow love making. Once Sherlock was a writhing, moaning mess under John, he began to thrust faster, slamming into Sherlock and hitting his prostate periodically. Sherlock gripped John's arm with one hand and tweaked his nipples with the other as he reflexively tightened his legs around John's waist.

 

"Fuck me! More, John. Uhh!" Sherlock moaned.

 

"Yes, Sherlock! You're so tight! I'm going to fuck you so hard."

 

"Yes, John! Oh. Oh. Ohhhhhhh! Please. Please. I love you."

 

John grasped onto Sherlock's hip, admiring how he looked underneath him with eyes squeezed shut, glistening pink mouth hanging open, skin splotchy with red all over, moans spewing out of him and fingers toying with his nipples.

 

"Mmm, Sherlock. Love you so much," he grunted, snapping his hips forward.

 

"I'm close. Gonna come," Sherlock breathed out.

 

He felt heat coil in the pit of his stomach and his bollocks tighten. His hole clenched tightly around John's prick and he trembled. The tight heat of Sherlock's entrance was almost too much for John. His movements became erratic as he slid in and out and he let go of Sherlock's prick, no longer able to concentrate on doing both things at once now.

 

Sherlock's body stilled as he came, his cock spilling hot, thick ribbons of opaque white ejaculate onto his and John's stomachs. Another pulse of come sputtered out of his cock and another, then it was all over. Sherlock was panting, eyes open to look at John, shuddering from the aftershocks of the best orgasm he'd ever had. Given that he'd only had organs by his own hands prior to him losing his virginity. 

 

"Mmm, John," he drawled.

 

Sherlock looked debauched and euphoric. His curls were spread out behind his head on the pillow like a halo, eyes lightly closed, lips open slightly, his naked body was covered in a sheen of sweat and trembling, chest rising and lowering as he calmed his breathing- Gosh, he was so beautiful. John thought Sherlock was always beautiful, but seeing him like this made him look ethereal and it was all thanks to John.

 

John's orgasm soon followed, burying his cock deep inside of Sherlock and holding him close and he spurted his warm seed deep within him. Once his orgasm was finished, John collapsed bonelessly beside a thoroughly debauchee Sherlock.

 

"You were exquisite," John breathed once he was able to steady his breathing.

 

"You were great. Thank you, John."

 

"There's so much more that I have to teach you. I want you to ride me. I want to fuck you in my office. I want to fuck you over the couch. I want to use sex toys with you. I want you to fuck me," John revealed.

 

Sherlock moaned at the words. His heart fluttered. John wanted to do this again, plus more. He really did want to be with Sherlock. He felt loved by someone other than his mother and brother, and he felt wanted and beautiful.

 

"I'd love to do those things with you," Sherlock replied.

 

"Let's get you cleaned up."

 

"Mmmmm. I can't feel my legs and I'm sore, John."

 

"That's okay, I'll be right back."

 

John got off of the bed and headed to his bathroom. Sherlock could hear bath water running into the tub after the sound of the plug being closed.

 

John retuned to the bedroom and scooped Sherlock into his arms, carrying him bridal style and sitting him in the tub as it was being filled with water. John slotted in behind him after the tub was a little under halfway full.

 

"I'm going to make you feel better, love. I'm sorry that you're sore," John murmured, nuzzling the crook of Sherlock's neck and squeezing shower gel onto a white terry cloth. He began washing Sherlock's chest, making sure to glide the warm cloth over his nipples and then cleaned his neck, back before rinsing off his cock. Next, John lifted up Sherlock a bit and dabbed the washcloth over Sherlock's entrance, noticing that it was bleeding a little. He'd put some ointment on him after they got out of the tub. After John cleaned himself, he let the water out of the tub, toweled Sherlock and himself off and rubbed some Neosporin onto Sherlock's entrance. He then let Sherlock rest on the couch after he put on his extra pair of boxers. John changed the sheets because he’d noticed that there were small spots of blood on them.

 

Sherlock checked his phone for messages and saw that he'd received one from Mycroft.

 

'Congratulations on winning the basketball game, baby brother. I hope you are having fun celebrating your victory. -MH'

 

'Oh, Mycroft. You have no idea,' Sherlock thought as he typed out a response.

 

'Thank you, Mycroft. -SH'

 

His phone pinged within seconds.

 

'You're welcome, brother mine. I've mailed you and Mum some cash. It should find its way to you all tomorrow afternoon. I do hope you and John are being safe. He seems quite charming. I love you -MH'

 

Of course Mycroft would know about John. He had eyes all over London. Sherlock shook his head, grinning to himself.

 

'Thank you, brother mine. I appreciate everything you do. So does Mum. John is good to me. We will take up Mrs. Hudson's offer on that flat on 221B, Baker St. I won’t require your assistance there for long, hopefully. Love you. -SH'

 

Mycroft's reply came quick again.

 

'Let me know if you need me and I'll help you out with whatever it is you two need. Do be careful. Good night. -MH'

 

Sherlock sat his phone back in his messenger bag on the ground and smiled, feeling heat blossom in his cheeks.

 

Once the bed was remade, John helped Sherlock into the bed and covered them both with the duvet, gathering Sherlock against his chest. The gesture was intimate and possessive.

 

"Mycroft says he'll help us out with whatever we need."

 

"You told him about me already?" John asked, quirking an eyebrow.

 

"He has eyes all over London."

 

"That's right. You told me he was the British government. I can't wait to meet the fellow."

 

"He'd probably be nice to you. Though he will have the whole 'don't hurt my baby brother or else,' talk with you. I told him you were good to me. You really are."

 

"I'm glad I could make you feel this way, Sherlock. At least he cares about you."

 

"Yeah. Do you really want to move into a flat with me?"

 

"Of course I do. When you're in Uni and 18, yes. Things will be more legal then."

 

"Okay, John. I turn eighteen next June. I hope the last school year goes by fast."

 

"Me too, Sherlock," John said, smiling at Sherlock.

 

"Excellent," Sherlock said sleepily as yawned.

 

"Goodnight, love. I love you."

 

"Goodnight, John. I love you, too."

 

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

 

John awoke to Sherlock's long limbs sprawled over him like a blanket.

 

He places a kiss on his forehead and stretched out, causing Sherlock to stir in his sleep. He looked so peaceful sleeping, like an angel.

 

Five minutes later Sherlock woke up to John in the bed with him and hugged John closer to him.

 

"Good morning, John."

 

"Good morning, love."

 

Sherlock was happy that John was still in bed with him and hadn't just wanted a quick shag.

 

That morning, John made the breakfast before he dropped Sherlock off at home. He and Sherlock exchanged mobile numbers so they could keep in touch and make plans to visit each other when they began to miss one another.

 

They texted each other over the weekend and made plans to go back to John's flat for dinner after school on Monday, which was the last day for the students.

 

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

 

 

"What are you so happy about?" Anderson sneered, holding his girlfriend’s hand. Sally glared at Sherlock, her curly hair pulled back in a ponytail.

 

Sherlock had been giddy all day and didn't even let Anderson’s and Sally's name calling bother him.

 

"You do seem happier, Sherlock. Whatever it is, I'm glad for you," Molly beamed, playing with a strand of her light brunette hair.

 

"I'm in a really good place right now, thanks to a special someone," Sherlock answered simply.

 

"That's great, mate," Zachary chimed in returning from turning in his basketball uniform.

 

Coach Watson gave Sherlock a knowing smile from the window of his office, something Sherlock couldn't help but shyly return when his friends and teammates weren't looking.

 

"I appreciate it. Everything’s wonderful."

 

Everything was wonderful. It was absolutely wonderful.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

**Author's Note:**

> Thank for reading! I hope you guys enjoyed it. :)  
> I might add another part to this story if you all liked it.


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